


blowin' out the candles

by postalcoast



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, MorstonWeek2020, Or highly suggested ones at least, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25822327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postalcoast/pseuds/postalcoast
Summary: “Is that my shirt?” Arthur gestures to the very familiar and very much his t-shirt that John’s currently wearing.John blinks at him, glances down, and picks at the fabric as if he’s just now realizing the shirt he’s wearing isn’t his own before bringing his gaze back up to Arthur. “Yeah.”
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58
Collections: Morston Week 2020





	blowin' out the candles

Arthur’s awoken to the feeling of gentle, feather-light kisses being placed along the side of his face. Then, when that doesn’t cause him to stir fast enough, he’s being prodded at in the ribs. Only such a strong amount of impatience like that could belong to one person.

“Hey, Arthur, wake up.”

Arthur opens a sleep-crusted eye to peer up at one John Marston hovering over him. Under normal circumstances, Arthur probably would’ve found the smile that automatically appears on John’s face when he sees that Arthur’s awake to be endearing. 

Under these current circumstances, however, seeing as John’s the one insisting on waking him up, Arthur just sees John as - well, annoying.

“Quit pokin’ me,” Arthur grumbles, swatting at the general area in which John stands at his bedside. “What is it?”

It’s a rare sight to see John up and awake before Arthur is - living under the same roof as the guy for a few years now, Arthur’s never known him to get up before eleven o’clock unless he absolutely had to.

Arthur, however, always seemed to have an internal alarm clock that went off at 6 am on the dot no matter what day it was or how late he went to bed the night before.

For a split-second, Arthur automatically assumes that John’s just waking him up in the middle of the night. Then, he registers the sunlight streaming in through their bedroom window.

“Dutch called,” John says and Arthur lifts his head at this, just enough that the sunlight is practically blinding at this slightly shifted angle and he jerks a hand up automatically to shield his eyes from it.

He probably looks like a goddamn vampire right about now, and the low, quiet chuckle that comes from John’s general area confirms that he’s probably thinking the same thing.

“This early?” It takes a few seconds and a few exaggerated blinks before Arthur can look at John with his eyes fully open. 

“It’s noon,” John says, and that’s enough to get Arthur propped up on his elbows. He hasn’t slept till noon since high school, maybe even longer before that.

There’s something off about John - now that Arthur’s looking at him head-on, and he can’t exactly figure out what it is. Arthur opens his mouth to ask just what it is that John’s hiding, but he’s caught off guard temporarily when his gaze drifts down to the t-shirt John’s wearing.

“Is that my shirt?” Arthur gestures to the very familiar and very much  _ his  _ t-shirt that John’s currently wearing. 

John blinks at him, glances down, and picks at the fabric as if he’s just now realizing the shirt he’s wearing isn’t his own before bringing his gaze back up to Arthur. “Yeah.”

Which, it’s nothing new that John has taken to wearing some of Arthur’s old t-shirts. It’s nothing new that Arthur kinda likes seeing John in his old t-shirts, and John can let on like he wears them just because they’re comfortable all he likes. He knows it as well as Arthur knows it.

It’s the same reason Arthur wears those jeans that are a bit too tight sometimes, even though he acts like all his other jeans need to be washed or the tight jeans were just at the top in his dresser and it’s the first pair he grabbed.

He likes the way John’s gaze lingers on him when he wears those jeans, just as John likes Arthur’s gaze lingering on him when he’s in one of Arthur’s old t-shirts.

The shirt John has on now isn’t quite as loose and stretched out as the other ones John usually wears, but it’s big on him enough that the collar dips down low enough that Arthur can see John’s collarbone and the hem of it comes down far enough that it’s almost covering his boxer shorts. 

It’s not even that John has  _ that _ small of a build, but he’s smaller than Arthur. 

When standing to his full height, John’s even almost as tall as Arthur is, but Arthur’s bulkier. John has always been lanky and spindly with muscles that were wound tight underneath his skin. With two builds as different as theirs, it’s no surprise that clothes fit them way differently. 

Either way, John looks  _ good  _ in Arthur’s shirts. He looks  _ good  _ in  _ this  _ shirt but -

“That shirt’s brand new,” Arthur snaps, or at least he means to - but the intended amount of irritation never really reaches his voice. 

“So?” John shrugs, glances down at the shirt again, and he’s still smiling. God, he’s been smiling this whole time, hasn’t he? He’s definitely up to something. “You ain’t wearin’ it.”

John’s right, in a way. Logically, Arthur ain’t wearing much of anything. Which, that could be blamed on the fact that Arthur’s used to sleeping naked anyway, or it could be blamed on the events that took place last night. 

He feels underdressed in comparison to John, right now. Left with only a sheet to cover him and the rest of the comforter conveniently shifted over to John’s side of the bed. 

“I might want to,” Arthur pushes himself up, sitting upright, finally. He’s still kinda half-asleep and a little too hungover and tired from last night to be bickering with John first thing, but as usual, it doesn’t stop him. 

John makes a dubious noise, but his hands reach for the hem of the shirt, anyway. “I can always take it off.” 

Tease. 

His hands fall away from any gestures of removing the shirt but his goofy, lopsided smile turns into a smirk when he sees Arthur actually considering this. 

Arthur’s eyes flicker from John to the clock on the bedside table. 

“What did Dutch want?” 

“He wants us to meet him at the bar in about an hour,” John’s face softens a little, and he glances over at the clock, too. He takes the small step separating him and the bed and sits down on the edge of it. “well, more like 45 minutes, now.”

Arthur runs a hand over his face. His head still hurts, he kinda feels like shit. He definitely doesn’t feel like going to Dutch’s bar right now. “Which one?”

“The one he  _ owns _ ,” John’s looking at him like he’s lost his mind, he’s been looking at Arthur pretty much nonstop this entire time. 

He’s got his whole torso turned towards Arthur, sitting on one foot and the other is left dangling off the side of the bed. The sleeves of Arthur’s shirt come down on John’s arms a little bit lower than they do his own, and Arthur catches himself staring at the tattoos on one of John’s arms.

God, John looks good right now.

“Which  _ one _ ?” Arthur asks, but for more clarification this time. The question’s not that ridiculous, seeing as Dutch owns like three different bars from Blackwater to Saint Denis. Okay, maybe it’s a little ridiculous, seeing as Arthur’s trying really hard not to smile right now, but ends up failing anyway.

“The one I work at,” John wrinkles his nose, swatting a playful hand at Arthur’s shoulder. He’s smiling, too. “C’mon, I told him we’d be there.”

John’s hand lingers, warm against the bare skin of Arthur’s arm. 

Letting Arthur sleep in, waking him up with gentle kisses, the incessant not-so-subtle persuasion to get Arthur out of bed when even John, himself, knows that’s one of his favorite places for Arthur to be.

Of course. 

If Arthur hadn’t been groggy with sleep and hadn’t been caught completely off guard by waking up at half-past noon, he would’ve figured this whole thing out way sooner.

Today, Arthur’s 37 years old. 

To be fair, Arthur had spent practically every year after he turned 21 ignoring his birthdays, until John moved in and insisted that they celebrate every single one. Then, they started dating and the celebrations got even better.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that it’s my birthday today, does it?” Arthur asks, and John’s got this look on his face like he’s halfway between being caught and not giving a shit.

His hand skims a bit lower, over Arthur’s forearm, and settles near the inside of Arthur’s thigh, over the sheets and Arthur watches John’s hand as it goes. There’s probably a few hickeys there, on the inside of Arthur’s thighs - leftover from last night. Arthur wonders briefly if that’s what John’s thinking about too at this moment, and his eyes flicker back up to John and by the look on his face, Arthur would say he is. 

“It’s your birthday today?” John’s voice has gone all low and breathy like it does when he’s either turned on or about three sheets to the wind. He makes an amused little sound, more of a wheeze than it is a laugh. “Oh, shit - I totally forgot.”

And as if to emphasize how much he  _ totally forgot,  _ John moves forward until he’s straddling Arthur’s hips, hovering just over his lap, and Arthur lies back, adjusting to their new position. 

John’s got his hands back on Arthur’s shoulders, hovering over him again, and Arthur’s hands automatically settle on John’s waist to support him. The front of Arthur’s shirt is even looser and baggier on John at this angle, hanging off of his torso, and it’d be so easy for Arthur to get his hands up underneath it.

So, he does. John’s breath hitches when he does.

“Mhm,” Arthur mumbles out, fingertips skimming over John’s stomach. “ _ Sure _ .”

Arthur moves his hands down to the elastic waist of John’s boxers, tucks his thumbs underneath it. He thinks about pulling them all the way down, he thinks about pulling the shirt off of John, but he doesn’t.

Instead, Arthur does what he usually does in situations like this. He keeps on talking himself through it. John had told him their first couple of times together that he’d talked too much during sex. Last night, John had told him that he could probably get off on his voice, alone. 

“So am I walkin’ into a surprise party or - ?” Arthur cuts himself off when John grinds his hips down, still separated by the layer of sheets but it’s enough that Arthur’s own hips jerk up at the friction. Arthur moves his hands back up and underneath the shirt, holding John at his hips, fingers pressed against the skin just above his boxers.

“No,” John draws the word out, and he brings his hips down again, rolls them down into Arthur’s lap.

“ _ Mhm _ ,” Somehow, Arthur still manages to sound skeptical, maybe he’s just making sounds at this point. Either way, John seems to take it the way Arthur had meant for him to. 

“Okay, _ fine _ , you got me,” John says, his voice is tight, now. “but don’t let on like you know.”

“I never do,” Arthur says, his voice is shaky, though. He feels like if he doesn’t kiss John within the next few seconds, he might actually die. “All these surprise parties Dutch has been throwing over the years and he still expects us to walk right into them, completely unaware.”

John makes a sound like he agrees, and he moves both hands and plants them right on Arthur’s chest. He can probably feel Arthur’s heartbeat racing like this. When John rolls his hips down again, there’s not a doubt left within Arthur that he can.

Arthur is the first to break with getting rid of the barrier between them, unceremoniously jerking the sheets back and pulling John forward. John lets himself be pulled, chuckling at Arthur’s eagerness.

Arthur could probably have a laugh about John’s eagerness, as well, if he had it in him, because finally -  _ finally,  _ John leans down, taking the sides of Arthur’s face in his hands and kisses him. Clumsy and desperate, all tongue and teeth - like they’ve both just completely forgotten how to kiss.

John groans into Arthur’s mouth when Arthur moves his hand to palm John’s cock through his boxers.

“It wasn’t -  _ all him _ this time, y’know,” John mumbles, pulling back and breaking the kiss to breathe. Arthur would be surprised that either of them even remembered they were having a conversation at this point if it didn’t take him a second longer than necessary to remember what John’s even talking about. “I helped.”

John’s still thrusting against Arthur’s hand, and he leans down again, dipping his head under Arthur’s jaw, dragging his teeth along the skin there.

“Yeah?” Arthur breathes, tilting his head back to allow John more room. “You get me a present and everythin’?”

John slows his hips, lifting himself back up and knocking away Arthur’s hand. “Yeah,” he mumbles the word against Arthur’s neck, drags his mouth down along over his collarbone, “only now I’m thinkin’ maybe I could give you another one.”

“ _ Jesus _ ,” Arthur pants out, and John laughs again, the sound literally vibrating against Arthur’s skin as John grazes his teeth along the line of his clavicle, and moves further down, placing sloppy kisses along his chest and over his stomach. 

They were definitely gonna be late to the party at this rate, but that was something neither of them really seemed too concerned with.


End file.
